As Long as it's Nonalcoholic
by Arigatomina
Summary: Yaoi. Slight violence. Shonen ai. 3x4. Why Quatre doesn't drink alcohol.


It was inspired by Quatre's words toward the end when Duo suggested they celebrate with a bottle of expensive champagne. If you're familiar with that episode, Quatre answers that it's fine so long as it's non-alcoholic. This gave me the idea that Quatre could be very susceptible to alcohol and basically any drug. That is where I got the idea for this one. A bit of violence, pilots fighting OZ, but other than that, it's a different sort of fic from most of my others. I like it. This is not out of character, I am just showing how effected he is by what they gave him. 3x4  
  
  
As Long as it's Non-Alcoholic  
  
  
"I'll come back for you, Quatre. I'll get you out, I swear!" Duo gripped Quatre's arm as he yelled so he could be heard over the gun shots.  
  
"I know!" Quatre hollered, shoving Duo toward the door, "Take care of Sandrock for me!" Once he was sure Duo had made it to the door, Quatre jerked his hand around the corner and fired the automatic toward the sound of the shots. Not looking around the corner, he   
waited till the firing stopped and jumped into the hall. Still firing, he moved slowly toward the doorway behind which the men hid. An empty click answered him and he dropped the gun, stood with his hands in the air, and waited. They would shoot him or not.  
  
"Don't move!" a man shouted, jumping out from behind the doorway, gun level with Quatre's head. Realizing he was unarmed, the guard brought the butt of his gun down on the side of Quatre's head. He went down.   
  
Pulling him to his feet, another guard hit him in the stomach, "This is for York, you bastard!" He was about to hit him again when the first guard caught his hand.  
  
"Not the face! We may be able to use him."  
  
He was brought into the interrogation room suspended between two guards. The commander gestured toward the chair and they met no resistance as they placed the leather straps over his wrists. "What's the plan, sir?" one of the guards asked the   
commander.  
  
"He's a gundam pilot, zero-four, I think, so we'll use truth-serum."   
  
At that, Quatre's head snapped up and his eyes flew to the commander's in horror. He began to struggle violently. When a guard approached with needle in hand, he pulled at the straps with all of his strength, but to no avail. "No!" he cried desperately, "You   
don't want to do this!"  
  
"Hold him!" the commander ordered.  
  
"No! Don't!"  
  
Trowa recognized the voice immediately and went cold. Although there was nothing he could do without giving himself away, he entered the room. Quatre was strapped in the chair, but he was bent forward until his forehead touched his knees. Moving to the side, he watched as the guards were dismissed and exited the room.  
  
"You. . ." Quatre unbent a bit, his face still hidden, "have no idea what you've done."   
  
For a minute or two the commander simply stood back and waited for the drug to take affect. The only sound in the room was Quatre's irregular breathing. Then Trowa, who still stood unobtrusively near the door heard a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. Quatre growled, and suddenly straightened. If he hadn't had his back to the wall, Trowa would have taken a step back. Quatre's shirt was soaked in blood, but it was his eyes that startled him. Narrowed and glaring beneath lowered brows, Quatre's normally pale blue-green eyes had turned a bright emerald green that rivaled Trowa's.  
  
"Run."   
  
For a moment the commander looked confused by Quatre's order, then he frowned and looked over at Trowa. Trowa's gaze was on Quatre, however, more specifically on his hands. Slowly, Quatre held both hands as high as the straps allowed, fingers spread. Then they turned until they were palm up, fingers curling into fists. Following Trowa's wide-eyed gaze, the commander turned just as Quatre brought his fists upward, ripping through the straps with what might have seemed complete ease if Trowa hadn't seen the blood trickling from where the skin on his wrists had been torn.  
  
The commander was just reaching for his gun when Quatre caught him, hitting him in the stomach and sending him to his knees. Without the slightest hesitation, he grabbed the man's head and broke his neck with such a fluid motion that Trowa wondered if it really *was* Quatre as he'd first thought. For a moment Quatre remained kneeling   
beside the fallen man, his head lowered. Rising, his eyes met Trowa's and he advanced slowly.  
  
Trowa's own eyes widened as he realized Quatre was going to attack him. "Quatre, no! It's Trowa!" Wondering if he was going to have to fight him, Trowa's blood froze.   
  
Quatre advanced until he was inches from Trowa. Reaching up, he placed his hand on the back of Trowa's head and brought him down so that their faces were an inch apart. "Are you afraid I'll hurt you, Trowa?" Quatre's voice held an oddly curious tone. Before Trowa could answer, Quatre continued. "I'd *never* hurt you, Trowa." His hand still on the back of Trowa's head, Quatre brought him closer and kissed him with such force that Trowa was frozen in shock. He felt Quatre's tongue touch his briefly before he was suddenly released. "I have to go now, Trowa." Without another word, Quatre grabbed the gun from the floor and moved out the door.  
  
Finding he could move again, Trowa quickly followed. Whatever they'd done to him, he was still Quatre and Trowa could *not* let him get killed. Following the sounds of gunshots, Trowa rounded a corner to see Quatre discard his gun and take the one from the guard at his feet. Freezing suddenly, he whirled to face Trowa, gun aimed at his   
heart.  
  
"Damnit, Trowa!" the gun lowered as Quatre glared at him, "I could have *killed* you! If you're going with me then stay behind me. Don't sneak up on me." He suddenly turned and fired on a man who came around the corner, hitting him in the head. "Let's go!"   
Without waiting to see if Trowa was following, Quatre moved quickly down the hall and around the corner.  
  
"Drop the gun!"  
  
Trowa ran after him and glanced around the corner. If he reached out, he could touch Quatre's back as he stood facing three men, his gun pointing at the one in the middle. He was about to help when Quatre suddenly dropped to the floor and fired three shots. Two men hit the floor, but the third lunged for the gun he'd dropped when he'd been hit in the shoulder. Quatre reached him first, and from where he stood it looked as if Quatre hit the man in the side of the neck. It wasn't until he saw Quatre slide the knife into his belt   
that Trowa realized he'd slit the man's throat.  
  
"Trowa," Quatre glanced over his shoulder, "Where do they keep their carriers?"  
  
"I'll show you." Trowa took a step forward just as another gun went off. Trowa fell to his knees as pain flowed through his left leg. Quatre moved in front of him and fired low, hitting the man who'd crouched down to make himself less noticeable.  
  
Turning to Trowa, Quatre put his shoulder under the tall boy's arm. "Which way?"  
  
They had reached the door to the carriers and had just gone through it when the sound of approaching soldiers reached them. "Stay here," Quatre leaned Trowa against the wall inside the door, and turned to meet the soldiers.  
  
"I'm not letting you go alone--" Trowa started to follow when Quatre suddenly turned back and hit him.   
  
Catching Trowa as he slumped forward, Quatre lowered him slowly to the floor with his back against the wall. "Sorry, Trowa." Quatre kissed Trowa's forehead before rushing out the door.  
  
* * *  
  
When Trowa woke, it was to a pounding headache and a throbbing leg. Looking around, he found he was buckled into a seat. Quatre was in the pilot's seat and they were flying in a shuttle. Remembering, he sat up abruptly. "You hit me!" His voice was angry and exasperated, but when Quatre turned and looked at him his emotions turned to concern.   
  
Quatre's pale blue-green eyes were wide in his white face. "I'm really sorry about that, Trowa. I. . . " he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "I couldn't control myself. I guess I didn't want you to get hurt. Trowa--" he glanced forward before pausing for another deep breath. "Can you fly for a while?"  
  
Barely sparing his bandaged leg a glance, Trowa quickly unbuckled himself. He'd no more than sat in the pilot's seat than Quatre suddenly collapsed behind him. "Quatre!" Cursing when he didn't answer, Trowa looked at his location and destination. He was over a secluded area, about halfway to the location Quatre had input. Still calling to Quatre, Trowa landed in a field and shut down the engine.  
  
Quatre lay on his stomach, and Trowa breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he was still breathing. Rolling Quatre onto his back, Trowa's breath caught in his throat. Quatre's shirt had been blood-stained before, but now it was soaked, and the blood was still damp. "Oh Quatre." Taking the knife from Quatre's belt, he started to cut the shirt off then paused. He didn't have any extra cloth on hand, and removing the saturated shirt might start the bleeding again. Instead, he probed Quatre's ribs. If any were broken, then internal bleeding was possible. He was checking the lower ribs when   
Quatre's hand caught his wrist.  
  
"Please don't." Quatre's voice was so soft Trowa leaned closer to hear him. Panting, Quatre tightened his hold on Trowa's wrist. "It hurts. . .too much." Drawing a shaky breath, he moved Trowa's hand away from his chest. "I. . .I can't. . ."  
  
"Alright," Trowa said quickly. "I'll try to find something." After a thorough search of the carrier, he found blankets and a bottle of whiskey which had been kept in one of the captain's compartments. Returning to Quatre, he lifted his head and made him drink nearly half the bottle. Wheezing and coughing from the burning liquid, Quatre resisted the drink but Trowa wouldn't take no for an answer. "It's the only think there is and I have to find out where the blood is coming from. Come on, Quatre," he put the bottle to   
Quatre's lips, "a little more and you won't feel a thing. I promise." Opening his eyes for the first time since he'd collapsed, Quatre looked at Trowa for a minute and then stopped resisting.  
  
When he knew anymore and blood poisoning would be a danger, Trowa finally set the bottle aside. A few minutes passed while Trowa studied Quatre. His breathing had slowed closer to normal, and there were bright spots of color on his cheeks. Slowly, he touched Quatre's chest, gradually putting pressure on it. "Does this hurt, Quatre?" There was no answer, and Trowa looked at his face wondering if he'd passed out. Slowly, his shoulders started to hitch and his breathing abruptly sped up. "Quatre?"  
  
His lips curving upward, Quatre suddenly let out a soft giggle. "T-trowa," he giggled again, "I can't feel a damn thing!" His smile widened into a grin. //Maybe I gave him a bit too much//, Trowa thought. "Nope," Quatre said suddenly, "I lied. Wow! I've never   
lied before!"  
  
Trowa frowned at him.  
  
"It hurts like hell, but I just can't seem to care. Isn't that great, Trowa?" Quatre opened his eyes and smiled up at Trowa.   
  
"Yeah," Trowa said softly, now using the knife to cut Quatre's shirt down the front. There were a couple of cuts, but only two bullet wounds and, amazingly these were only grazes. Once he'd cleared the blood and put pressure on the worst of the wounds with a blanket, he swore at the colors that covered Quatre's chest and stomach. Pressing on the ribs again, Trowa was certain that although many were no doubt bruised, none were broken.  
  
//It's bad// Trowa thought, //but not enough to explain the pain he was in.// "Quatre, what else hurts? Are there internal injuries?"   
  
Quatre smiled and, lifting his head, looked at Trowa. "Nope, but my left shoulder is numb and I think my legs are broken." He laughed. "Actually I'm sure they're broke. They had to drag me into the interrogation room because it hurt too much to walk."  
  
//But you walked,// Trowa stared at Quatre in horror, //in fact you supported me when I was shot.// Praying the alcohol was confusing him, Trowa felt Quatre's left leg. His heart sank when he felt the femur nearly protruding through the skin. "Quatre!" he cried,   
looking up.  
  
Quatre smiled at him and suddenly giggled again. "The doctor tried truth serum on me once. Boy was he surprised! By the time it wore off I was chained down and had broken both wrists trying to get loose!" Quatre laughed, a disturbing sound that made Trowa   
shudder. "Don't worry Trowa, it didn't hurt until the drug wore off. I have absolutely no tolerance against drugs."   
  
//And I gave him alcohol. Oh God!// Trowa shook himself and moved to Quatre's right leg. This time it was a fracture. "Don't move, Quatre. I'll be right back."  
  
Having found something to splint Quatre's legs, Trowa cut off the sleeves of Quatre's shirt. Sure enough there was a bullet wound in his shoulder. Luckily it had exited the other side so all Trowa had to do was bind it. //"Broken both wrists."// Quatre's words   
returned to him and he slowly took Quatre's hands. The wrists were sprained, but the cuts were not bad and had stopped bleeding long ago. //And he grabbed my hand.// "God, Quatre, you're a mess."  
  
Suddenly Quatre sat up and grabbed the front of Trowa's shirt. "What was that?!" A moment before he'd been smiling and laughing but now he looked terrified.  
  
"Nothing." Trowa put his hands on Quatre's shoulders, mindful of his wound. "You're safe, Quatre." He waited until Quatre raised his large, frightened eyes to his before continuing. "I promise, I won't let anything hurt you, Quatre." For a minute Quatre didn't look like he believed him, then he closed his eyes and buried his face against   
Trowa's chest.  
  
Breathing a sigh of relief, Trowa gently moved his hand through Quatre's hair.   
  
"Trowa," Quatre whispered and suddenly lifted his head and kissed him. Eyes closed, face tilted upward, Quatre sighed. "I love you, Trowa."   
  
Shock blazing through him, Trowa stared down at Quatre. A long minute passed in silence, then Quatre opened his eyes and stared up at Trowa in confusion. Seeing Trowa's shocked expression, Quatre blushed and, blinking back tears, lowered his head in   
humiliation. "I. . .I'm sorry. I thought. . ." Quatre's shoulders hitched as he choked on a soft sob, "You don't. . ."  
  
With a soft oath, Trowa grabbed Quatre's chin and forced him to look at him. "Yes I do," he said vehemently and kissed him. Spreading out the left over blankets, Trowa lifted Quatre and placed him on them. When he started to leave him, Quatre wrapped his arms around his neck.   
  
"Don't go?" Quatre's eyes pleaded with him and he kissed him urgently.  
  
"Quatre," Trowa returned his kiss but then pushed him down on the blankets. "You are in no condition for this now."  
  
Quatre shook his head. "You'll change your mind," he said piteously, "If I sleep, when I wake you will withdraw again."  
  
Trowa kissed him softly, "I promise you, Quatre. I will *not* change my mind. Not about you. Not ever." Trowa held him and finally Quatre slept.  
  
* * *  
  
When they reached Duo, Trowa carried Quatre in and set him on a stool before the bar in the kitchen of the building Duo was using.   
  
"Damn it's good to see you, Quatre!" Duo smiled and would have slapped him on the back if Trowa hadn't intervened. "You too, Trowa." Laughing, Duo went behind the bar and got something out of a cabinet. "This is cause for a celebration. How about a drink, Quatre?"  
  
Duo held up a bottle of champagne.  
  
"No!" Eyes wide with horror, Trowa grabbed the bottle and threw it into the wastebasket with such force that it shattered.  
  
Duo stared at him in shock, then, muttering out of the corner of his mouth, turned. "Fine, I guess we'll just have juice then."  
  
-Owari-  



End file.
